


Eager

by Miss_Black_Fox



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen, turian love, wannabe slut, woobieness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 18:54:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Black_Fox/pseuds/Miss_Black_Fox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another beautiful prompt from the Mass Effect Kinkmeme:</p>
<p>I read an entry on one of those confession blog things from a female gamer along the lines of, "If the Citadel was a real place I'd go there and become the biggest slut ever banging loads of turians, drell, quarians, krogans etc,".</p>
<p>I'd like a fill where a human female, stunningly attractive by conventional standards, goes to the Citadel with this in mind but completely fails to get laid. How come right, I mean we all know that "Humans are Special" in the ME 'verse and "All Aliens Lust after Human Females" in almost all Sci-fi ever? Maybe the Krogan's quads only stir for females with huge humps on their backs? Maybe most turians find her massive asari matron-like chest bumps a bit gross, or her waist not supportive enough? Quarian freaked out by her five-fingerd hand? Let your imagination run wild anon....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I should be writing the last chapter. Instead I'm posting it here and reading more of Tina Fey's biography. Yay for procrastination!

The moment the ship slipped past Earth's atmosphere and the vast, inky expanse of space spread out before her eyes, Miram knew this was the destiny of a large-eyed dreamer with a paper copy of Fornax in her hands. Giddy excitement bubbled up in her stomach, and she couldn't sit still in her seat. Thankfully the seats around her were empty. She was enough of a weirdo already.

Her fingers tapped the cover of the magazine; her friend gave it to her as a joke on her birthday not a week ago. The memory still burned in her mind, and how could she forget the moment that set her on this new life?

“I can't believe you got this,” Miram had said, and prodded the magazine, a naked asari adorning the front, like it would infect her if she touched it to long. Her friend, Sarah, picked up the magazine and tossed it into Miram's arms. 

“Don't be such a wuss,” Sarah laughed when Miram flinched away but caught the mag none the less, “You're twenty-one now, it's time for you to get laid. No more of this 'I don't want to have sex' shit. Looking at those freaky aliens will make you appreciate the package our fine males carry,”

Miram gave her a skeptical look, and eyed the magazine once more. Asari didn't do it for her at all, which, could have been because she didn't like girls that way. In a way she could appreciate the alien ascetic of the asari, but they were just too feminine to been seen as attractive. Boobs were kinda gross anyways, not to mention a total pain. Why did guys like them again?

“All guys want is to touch my 'rockin' rack',” Said Miram, and she rolled her eyes. At the time she really wanted to slap the boy who said that, she didn't even know the guy either! Sure, she was a D-cup but she was far from proud of robust chest. They gave her back aches, unwanted stares and finding a well-fitting bra was like the proverbial needle in a haystack. Most stores didn't even cary her size.

“Look, I need to go to my job,” Sarah said and gave Miram a quick hug, “but you go a head and take a look at that magazine. Hope I don't ruin aliens for you,” She teased, waved goodbye and ran off to secure a skycar to take her to work.

Miram, recently fired, had nothing better to do then go home and, well, take a look at her “present”. In her room, behind the safety of a locked door, she opened the mag for the first time and prayed to god her parents wouldn't come home early.

The first few pages were what she expected, a bunch of naked asari in what were considered seductive poses, but then turians came into the picture, followed closely by drell, krogan, and quarians. Miram suddenly found herself glued to the explicit pages before her wide eyes. Their bodies were so alien, but unquestionably and undeniably _hot_. The further in she went, the more she wanted and the more the feeling between her legs intensified.

A deviant, she had thought to herself, I must be some kind of deviant but god do I want these aliens. Who cared what her family or friends thought, Miram knew what she wanted, what she had to have. Plans rolled around in her head, melding with fantasies of many lovers and intense love-making sessions.

A voice came over the intercom, interrupting her thoughts. A speaker said that it would be about fifteen hours till arrival at the Citadel. It would be the longest plane, or rather, ship ride of Miram's life. Good thing she had her magazine to keep her entertained. She couldn't count all the times she's flipped through it, and the dents, tears, crinkles and bits of dried food in the cracks between pages testified to its generous use. 

Her favorite pages were marked with thin strips of yellow paper. The turian on six with dark, almost black plates and gorgeous green eyes, the drell on twenty-seven riding a human male, the human was the only bad part about it, and lastly, the quarian on seventy-nine having through alone time. She couldn't quite place how that last one turned her on so much, but there was something mysterious about the quarians, and that really made her want to be the one pleasuring him.

To think she hated the idea of sex. Human males never did anything for her, she found them rather distasteful, but aliens? Hell. _Yes_. It was like a light was flipped on, and lust and desire pooled in her stomach, and between her legs until it felt like too much. She wanted to be the human on twenty-seven with a deliciously naked drell ontop of her. After her first time through the magazine she had to fuck them all. And she did in her imagination.

Sex with a drell was at the top of her list. The extranet was full of stories of passionate love-making between drell and humans, where the hallucinations in the human from the drell's saliva gave the sex such a surreal and abstract quality. It was like sex on drugs, but without the nasty side-effects. Lastly, Miram always liked the color green. A green lover, yes, that had a nice ring to it.

After that she wanted either a krogan or a turian, and not just have them, but be dominated by them. Both species were terribly intimidating; the krogan, large and powerful, nearly impossible to kill and the turians looked like the birds of prey on earth, with silver plates and claws that could scrape and brush her soft skin. . .

A harsh blush flushed across her cheeks and she had to close the magazine for a few moments to calm down before she would have to, ah, excuse herself to the bathroom for a bit. Miram called over a stewardess for a glass of cold water, which she got in just a few short minutes, and took several short sips. Her omni-tool pinged, but she ignored it.

It was probably mother again, telling her what a bad idea this was, that she raised her better than this. Father had been silent when she announced her plans to go to the citadel. Mother? Mother was livid.

“Why, why would you ever want to do that?! You have no money! No job! Hon, you don't need to go to the Citadel,” Mother tried to rest a hand on Miram's shoulder but she brushed her off. They all stood in their apartment living room. The news played in the background, and noticed only by father who seemed oblivious to his wife and child.

“I have enough money for a ship ticket and I'll get money by dancing. I'm pretty good at it, and I have a pretty face, I'll get by just fine,” A pretty face didn't quite explain her looks, because she was downright gorgeous. Thick shoulder-length blonde hair that curled at the end, large brown eyes and clear, pale skin. With a fine chest and ass to boot she was a constant target of lecherous or sultry comments.

Her mother bristled, perhaps realizing the same thing, then shouted at the top of her lungs, “No, you won't! I did not raise you to be some slut! There's nothing but aliens on the Citadel, you are not going to shake your ass for them!”

Miram faltered for a moment, surprised by her mother's rage. Tears threatened to stream down her face, “This is my life! I'm going to live the way -I- want to and this is what I want to do! You can't stop me!” With that she turned and fled from the room, her mother shouting at her heels all the way to her bedroom where Miram slammed the door into her mother's face. 

Hastily, she packed a bag of clothes, and grabbed a few small possessions. Things like her watch, a book and some candy bars. Without a moments hesitation she hopped out the window, ran down the street and rode a cab all the way to the spaceport. 

A heavy sigh threatened escape as she stared out of the ship window, but she told that bad memory to go away and instead focused on what she was going to do when the ship landed. Funny, she hadn't thought this far ahead, but it shouldn't be too hard to find a bar to dance at. The asari had a ton of clubs filled with dancers. She'll just walk right in, show herself and before she'll know it she'll have a lover every night.

That was the dream. 

Again her omni-tool pinged, and she changed her message settings to silence, then searched for vids of the Citadel on the extranet. For the rest of the trip she watched vids, nibbled on food, and dreamed of her fateful meeting with a mysterious drell who smelled of machines and musk.


	2. Chapter 2

“By the goddess you smell,” The asari bartender sneered at her, and held a delicate blue hand up to her nose.

Miram could cry, “I know, I know but don't think on that. I'm a great dancer, just give me a job, and a few credits and I can get a hot shower and some food, clean clothes and I swear to you I'll be the best damn dancer you ever had, just please help me out,” Her once shiny blonde hair was limp and oily; her clothes smudged with dirt and grime. 

“Get out of my bar, slut,” The asari growled out and reached under the counter. Miarm scrambled backwards, and high-tailed it out of the bar. Outside she skirted the side of the building, avoiding the windows, and ducked down the neighboring alley. She really did cry now. And fell against the side of the smooth, silver wall, letting herself crumple to the ground. 

No one wanted her. Humans weren't exotic enough, or she wasn't to the clients tastes, her dancing wasn't good enough or they just plain didn't like humans. Miram curled up, her head buried into the back of her knees, body trembling from the force of her sobs.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Miram could still recall how excited she was when she arrived on the Citadel. She had skipped down the loading dock, impervious to the stares of strangers. It was a new place, and she had a new goal to get laid. God, that felt so long ago. There was no day/night cycles in the wards, and after the first week of sleeping in shelters she had lost track of time all together.

The first night she spent on the Citadel was in the space port. She had eagerly searched through the extranet for clubs and bars in need of a dancer, one who would get down and dirty (another blush started to show on her face) with the patrons and give them a good time. 

“You have had sex before, right?” Her first employer, a dark-blue asari named Teila, had asked her. The no doubt centuries old woman examined Miram carefully, from her bouncy blond curls to her curvy hips and narrow legs.

“Of course,” Miram said happily. The excitement from being hired had overflowed into her lie.

“Eager, huh? Good, I like that in my girls. It really gets the boys going,” Teila smiled and gestured for Miram to follow her. The two of them walked out of Teila's office and into the club itself. It was like walking into a void. Everything from the ceiling to the floor was black as a moonless night, and only broken by the soft light of the golden, star-like orbs that floated in the air, almost completely still save for their gentle bobbling.

Circular in shape, the center of the club consisted of a dance floor raised five feet above the glossy black floor. Dancer poles were placed squarely in the circle of the platform. Looking up at them Miram couldn't wait to dance, it would be like dancing in a field of stars. Teila lead her around the club, showing her the bar tucked neatly inside the outer wall, golden lights surrounding it and the rooms directly across from it. During the short tour, Teila talked excitedly about the club's grand opening that night and how it was going to be a grand affair.

Later, Miram met the other dancers, mostly asari but there were a few human girls like her. Though, none were as well-endowed as Miram, something she noted with pride. For an hour she stood before the mirror, admiring the way her gold dancer outfit clung to her chest and thighs. With each slight movement it sparkled and made her feel like a heavenly seductress. Just how many would she make crazy with her body? How many alien eyes would she catch? All of them, she thought with a sly smile. Human men loved her body, they were all over her, and so would the other races.

When the time came for the grand opening, she felt like she was glowing with excitement. The music started, Miram and the other dancers sauntered out of the back room, hips swayin' all the way to the dance floor. Girls took up the poles, men of various species hooted and hollered around her, the music picked up and she danced. 

Above her the gold stars glimmered and spun, pulsing with wild rhythms, the heavy beat of the music resounded throughout her body and a layer of sweat covered her. The human crowd gave her plenty of attention, but she wasn't interested in them. For the turians and krogan (no drell, dammit, or quarians!) she gave her all. Chest bouncing, and hips shaking she had to have them at her mercy.

Before she knew it her turn on the floor ended; she didn't think she had gained the attention of any of the aliens. None of them seemed to look at her, or even examine her. The first few pings of discouragement began to swell up inside her. This wasn't right, things weren't supposed to go like this.

Miram left the dance floor as the next group took up the stage. Maybe some direct interaction would get better results. Spying two turians by the bar, leaning back against the wall and drinking, she pushed the bad thoughts away and put on her flashiest smile. Confident, she strode over.

“Hey there,” She smiled, coming up beside the closest turian. His plates were dark silver, and intricate red markings adorned his face. God, he looked hot.

“Uh, hey,” The turian said, mandibles flickering for a moment before he turned away to talk with his friend.

Undaunted, Miram continued, “Enjoying yourself? Having a good time? If not I can always make it better,” She said, putting on her most sultry voice. To make herself more appealing she pushed her chest out more, and looked up at him from under her eyelashes.

“No. . .thank you,” The turian said. He and his friend moved to the other side of the club. 

Miram watched them the whole way, secretly hoping the turian would change his mind, or his friend would come back. They didn't. 

It's okay, Miram thought to herself and scanned the club for another target, you can't win them all. The second time she tried a turian she was sure was by himself. Maybe the other turian didn't want to leave his friend hanging, so that's why she was turned down.

This turian had darker places, simpler white markings, and still just as hot. 

“Like some company?” She said casually as she strode up to him. The turian looked at her, shocked, then waved his hand.

“No, I'm not interested in some human slut,”

Miram's face heated up, and her mouth opened to give some kind of comeback but nothing came to mind. She was too mad to think. The turian repeated his request more forcefully and Miram backed off, repeatedly looking over her shoulder at him, waiting for him to change his mind and call her back over. That his anger was just a game and they could go into the rooms and have hot, sweaty sex.

No such luck.

She took up position by the bar counter, on the hunt for another target. The night was still young, she told herself, once I get laid it'll just get easier. Out of the corner of her eye she watched an asari lead the first turian she hit on to one of the rooms. A hopeful idea came and she searched for the friend. She found him a moment later with an asari in his lap. Well, there went that idea. 

What am I doing wrong? She thought, frowning some, maybe I just have to be more aggressive. The possibilities and scenarios played through her head. Like, coming up behind someone, rubbing her hand across their hips, whisper something seductive like, “You make me so hot,” or. . . well, she'll think of something when the moment arrived.

“Move,” A gruff voice behind her commanded. Miram immediately jumped to the side. A broad krogan with dark, leathery yellow skin took her spot by the bar; he ordered a glass of ryncol. It was the perfect opportunity she'd been waiting for.

“Hey sexy,” She purred by the krogan's head, her hand running up his arm-he moved suddenly and she went tumbling to the floor. There were some gasps, barely heard above the roar of the music. Miram's arms clenched around her side, she cringed in pain.

“Humans have no class,” The krogan said with a sneer, then spit on her. 

Miram hung her head, her whole face hot and red, and scurried to her feet. She pushed her way through the crowd, towards the back rooms when a hand grabbed her arm. Not a painful grip, but enough to stop her, and get her attention.

“Leave me-” She started to say but was hushed by a flanging voice.

“Never thought I'd see a green prostitute,” 

He was turian, his plates were the lightest silver she's ever seen, but they were different somehow, these seemed worn, or perhaps faded? An older turian? Still, at the comment her face flushed more. Miram thought that she no doubt looked like a tomato at this point.

“I don't feel like talking,” She said quietly and jerked her arm out of his grip. 

The turian flared his mandibles; to her it looked like a grin. Now she was being mocked. Could this get any worse?

“I'm going,” She said and turned but he grabbed her again.

“Some advice, don't come on strong to the krogan,”

“Gee, thanks,” Miram snapped, and pulled herself away from him once more. She retreated into the back rooms. There she waited, knees pulled up against her chest, until it was her turn to go back up on the dance floor. 

When she went up she couldn't stop stumbling, or running into the other dancers and ended up boo'ed off the stage. Teila fired her shortly after, and she was pushed out to the streets.


	3. Chapter 3

[Message Subject: Stop Messaging me]  
[Sender: Miram Yale]

_Mom, stop messaging me. I'm selling my omni-tool so I won't get them anyways. I'm doing fine, I have like twenty clubs wanting to hire me! Everyone loves me, and I have a nice apartment on the Presidium to boot! The food here is great and the shopping, omg the shopping! I could die there's so many clothing stores._

_Anyways, I'm doing fine so don't worry. I'm loving all this independence! The sights just never get old! Anyways, anyways, I have to go to work!_

_Love, Mirri_

* * *

Miram wondered the lower wards for hours after Teila fired her, still wearing the golden dancer suit. Her heart hammered in her chest, a red blush stuck on her face. Why was she failing? Never before in her life has she been so humiliated. A rush of shame flooded her, forcing her to stop in the middle of the crowded street. Shouldered out of the way, and shouted at. 

Oblivious to everything around her she started to cry. Where was she going to sleep? How was she going to get money? All these questions burned in her mind, along with the realization that she had no one to turn too. Her family was back on earth and she hardly had the money to pay for her next meal much less a seat on a ship. 

She sold her omni-tool at the first vendor that would take it. It was the first thing she could think of to get money. The salarian salesman gave her a few hundred credits for it, and she used the money to buy batarian fast food. Not very tasty, but the cheapest she could find. Miram had pretended that her slightly green meat thing on a bun was a juicy hamburger; it was sorta bearable that way.

A cold chill brought her back to the present, to that dark alley. She pulled her tattered coat closer as she sat outside the what felt like the one thousandth club. More than anything she wished she had kept her omni-tool. Then she'd have something that was hers, and could send a message home asking for help.

Miram sluggishly got to her feet, used the wall for support and made her way down the alley. The smell of refuse was strong, and the stagnant air made it even worse. Breathing through her mouth made no difference, the air was so putrid with rotted waste she could taste it. Not that she smelled any better. The asari was right, she really did stink. 

The alley was polluted with discarded bags and papers. At one point the walls had to of been the pristine silver that she saw in the upper wards and the Presidium, but here they were coated in a layer of grime or paintings of penises or had obscene words scrawled across them. Her feet scuffed across the ground like she had done back home when walking with friends, on their way to some clothing store or popular coffee shop. Instead of the clear blue sky of home, there was the dingy purple of the Serpent Nebula, a poor substitute, and her only company was the the sounds of sirens, an occasional shout, and skycars zooming at hundreds of miles an hour far above her. 

Her stomach rumbled, and she considered rooting through dumpsters for food. She just had to be careful not to pick up anything dextro. There were some trash vats at the end of the alley. Hastily, she made her way over and carefully opened the silver lid and reached in. Her fingers encountered all sorts of strange, most often wet or slimy, things but nothing that felt like food. Last time she reached into a dumpster she had grabbed a used condom.

There was a quiet whirring and she immediately pulled her arm out, watching wistfully as the trash slowly sunk down and out of sight. The occasional crunching and grinding sound filled the eerie silence of the alley. 

Miram adjusted her clothes, the very last set she had. A blouse, once cheery yellow, now a dingy grayish-brown from all the stains and sleeping on the ground, then a tan skirt that was torn all along the bottom and similarly stained as the blouse. Lastly, a grey coat that was falling apart in places and full of holes. She got it at the last shelter she spent the night in.

She clearly remembered the first shelter she stayed in the night she was fired from her first job. There, in a hot and crowded building, she was surrounded by batarians, humans, and even a quarian, but didn't dare talk to anyone. Most of them looked dangerous, and the way some of them eyed her made her feel uncomfortable. But there was a bath at the shelter, and they served food. Miram bathed, changed her clothes and had a meal that made the batarian fast food decent by comparison. She slept in the corner, her arms clenched around her bag. That night was just one rough spot she told herself. The next night she'll have a room at some nice apartment building, and sleep in a nice warm bed after a hot bath. 

Eventually she fell asleep, and when she woke up her bag was gone.

Miram desperately searched every where for it, and asked around if anyone had seen it. The few who would actually talk to her didn't see a thing. After several minutes of fruitless searching she went to the human who acted as the shelter guard.

“Excuse me!” Miram ran up to him, trembling, “Someone stole my bag, please, you have to help me, everything I own was in there,”

“Not my problem,” The human said. He had blond hair like hers, but sharp blue eyes and a permanent frown on his face, “Go bother someone else,”

“You're a security officer, aren't you?” Miram shouted, close to crying.

The guard frowned more, “Look, I keep you bastards safe, not watch over your goodies. You should have been more careful, girlie,”

“You're awful! Just awful!” Miram shrieked at him, then stormed off before he could see her cry. She curled up under a table and pretended she lived in one of her fantasies. Nothing went wrong there at least. 

“Hey,” a gentle voice coaxed her. Miram turned and saw an asari kneeling down beside the table, a soft look in her dark blue eyes, “Hey sweetie, what's got you all flustered?”

“M-my bag. . .” Miram felt so pathetic. Eyes red and puffy, tears streaming down her face and sobs breaking apart every word, “It was stolen,”

“Oh, you poor thing,” The asari said, and gently stroked Miram's cheek with her cool hand. Miram began to calm down, “Here, come out from there and tell me all about it,”

Miram came out, and the two sat next to each other at the table. With no restraint, Miram told the asari everything that's happened to her. Everything from the the fight with her parents, to her bag being stolen. The asari listened quietly, occasionally throwing in an “oh no,” or a “you poor thing”. At the end of her story Miram burst out crying again. 

“You're not the first to come to the Citadel to be a prostitute,” The asari told her calmly, and gently rubbed Miram's back, “In fact, that's why I came here. I know just where you can get a job too,” 

“Really?” Miram looked up at the asari, something close to hope in her eyes. 

“Yes,” The asari smiled, then dropped her voice to a whisper, “I work at a brothel not too far from here, and I'm sure my boss wouldn't mind taking you in. She's always looking out for fresh girls-new talent y'know?”

“Take me there,” Miram blurted out, taking the asari's hands in her own, “Please, I don't want to stay here,” The shelter smelled and she was terrified that if she stayed another night that someone would take her next. It didn't matter that prostitution wasn't the most legal thing ever, it meant a job which meant food and a nice apartment and being able to shower and have nice clothes. 

The asari, or Penelope as she later introduced herself as, took Miram to the brothel. It was only a few blocks away from the shelter, and in a district where everything looked the same. Hardly no signs or land markers anywhere, and many humans and aliens hung out near the alleys, watching the girls with hard eyes. The brothel itself was down a narrow alley, behind what Miram thought was a smoke shop, and had a red light shining above the door. 

The brothel boss, Miss T'Las, was more than glad to take in a down on her luck girl like Miram, and gave her a room, new, loose fitting clothes and even a home cooked meal. While eating her rich, meat stew and surrounded by prostitutes, Miram felt like she was somewhere close to home. A renewal of energy filled her, maybe her dream was still possible.

Penelope showed her around the brothel, the upstairs where Miram would sleep, and the down stairs where she'll interact with customers. It was a very laid back place, with dark colored lights idly glowing from the ceiling, pillows and cushions of every colors spread sporadically about. There were already customers, seated around the room with the the girls who flirted and laughed freely. 

As Miram understood it the brothel was also like a casual club. There was a small bar for drinks, music that you could hardly hear save for the heavy bass played in the background and the air was heavy with flowery perfume. One moment it would smell of roses, the next lilies, and after that a sweet scent from a flower Miram didn't know. Everyone talked in hushed tones, and stood by the walls or lay sprawled across the cushions. They looked so comfortable, care-free even.

“Think you understand everything?” Penelope asked Miram as they stood in a corner of the main room.

“Yeah, just a little nervous. I mean, what do I say?” Miram said, and glanced around at the aliens and humans lounging about.

Penelope giggled, “Oh, that's the easy part. Just walk up to them, compliment them, be playful, and you'll be in one of the rooms and making money before you know it,”

“Right, yeah, of course,” Miram tried to smile, and it looked the part, but didn't quite have the feeling behind it. Penelope didn't notice, and motioned to the room around them.

“Go at it, Miram. Achieve your dreams!”

Her dream, yeah, that was the reason for all of this wasn't it? Just do it already, Mirri, she mentally instructed herself. But she couldn't move away from the corner. Penelope was already gone and chatting up an asari customer. It's easy, she thought, there's no reason at all to be scared. I just have to get out there and start talking. I'm a great talker, and flirter.

There were plenty of fine aliens around, mostly turian and asari but there was a human here or there. Now she just had to go up to someone, talk and see if it can't lead to something more. With effort she moved from the corner and walked the room. In her new clothes, a simple low-cut green dress that stopped just above the knees, she felt exposed.

A human whistled to her, and winked. Miram gave him a polite smile and kept walking. The guy called after her; she walked faster. Eventually, she sat down on a plush, green cushion with golden patterns near the doorway that lead to the rooms. There she sat and watched as people paired up and went past her with lust in their eyes. A few times she made eye contact with Penelope who, every time, gave her a questioning look. 

Hours dragged on, or maybe it was longer? There was no clock to give her the time, and the only notion she had of it even passing was when a pair went into the rooms, and came out some time later. Eight pairs had gone in and left so far, that had to be a few hours, right?

“You, human,” A dark plated turian came up to her. His orange eyes were hard set, and there was stiff air about him. His arms were crossed, and seemed to examine her, “The asari said you can do a decent blowjob,”

Skittish, Miram nodded. In the back of her mind she knew it was Penelope who recommended her, “I-I'm pretty good,”

“Well, come on then,” The turian said.

“Of course,” 

Miram gulped, jittery excitement and raw nerves bundling together in the pit of her stomach as she led the dark plated turian into a room. The walls and floor, both the same velvety red color, were stained, the bedsheets torn. Not exactly the first place she would have picked for a sexual encounter but this is what it is.

The turian unzipped his pants and sat at the edge of the bed, his member peeking out between his pelvic plates. At the sight of him she froze, unsure how to progress. How the heck does she give a blowjob? Start with the hands, er, rubbing it? Or maybe she-no, no, that couldn't be it. Miram had no idea, and all she could think of was how little she knew of this situation.

“Well?” The turian growled out, sub-vocals laced with impatience. 

“I, ah, h-how would you want me to, um,” Her face flushed, “d-do it?”

“Just get down and start sucking,” He said, tone giving way to even more agitation. Miram nodded quickly, but didn't move right away. When the turian moved to stand she lurched forward, practically falling to her knees. 

Just put it in your mouth, Miram, she thought desperately. But, it was so. . .large and wet and blue and nothing at all like she expected it to be. She tried to pull inspiration from her fantasies, but even they were failing her. Everything was so much more passionate in her mind. Sex started out with kissing, sexy talk, foreplay and took place in a grand hotel room or on a beach on some exotic island.

The turian's member twitched, and started to retract. Hesitant, she reached out with her tongue, brushing the tip of his cock. 

“Come on,” The turian growled, “I don't have time for this,”

Miram did another experimental lick, not sure she liked the taste of him, and slowly pressed her lips to his tip. Excitement had long since burned away to terror. Again her mind drew a blank. She sat unmoving, lips against him. 

“That's it,” he snapped and grabbed her hair with both hands. Miram yelped in pain, eyes squeezing shut. The turian jerked her forward, forcing his cock into her mouth. Instantly she started to gag. The taste, good god the taste, and the feel! She shook with revulsion. Her teeth drew across the ridges and bumps, the feel unnatural. Fear took over and she bit down as hard as she could. 

The turian howled in pain, and released her. Miram pulled back, coughing and spitting out the taste of his member. It's foreign taste clung to her lips and the inside of her mouth. It was salty and something else she couldn't place but called it trash for a lack of a better word. She tried to stand, but the turian was over her, and he kicked her hard in the stomach.

“You slutty, human -bitch-,” He said, grabbed her by the hair again and slammed her head into the ground. Stars danced before Miram's eyes. She tried to kick and punch, limbs flailing as she screamed for help. 

He shouted at her to shut up, and kept pounding her head relentlessly against the floor. Something wet trickled down the side of her head. Her ears rung, and her vision blurred. Tears poured out of her eyes, Miram continued to cry and called out for help, but her voice was getting weaker. 

She was going to die. In this filthy, awful room she was going to die.


	4. Chapter 4

Miram shut her eyes, the pain in her head too unbearable to stand any longer. She begged for release. The faces of her family and friends flashed before her eyes. What could they do though? They were a million light years away and she left them, why should they mourn her? The feeling that this was it, this was the end, made her numb to everything. Who was she to think she could ever do something with her life?

She waited for the next hit. 

With a start she realized the pull on her hair was gone. Her ears rung painfully, but through the thick drone she could hear something else. Thuds and bodies moving. Miram struggled to open her eyes. Every bone and muscle in her body protested earnestly. They were sore, beaten, too exhausted to move. 

“Help me,” She rasped out. The ringing in her ears began to fade and the sounds struggle grew. Someone came to save her, “help me,” She cried out, louder. There were voices in the room too. Angry voices followed by growls and grunts. Miram didn't feel safe laid out on the ground like some dead animal. She needed to get up, move. One shaky hand on the ground, and then another, she lifted herself up.

Something wet rushed down the side of her face and onto her shoulder. Miram put her hand where the throbbing was worst. Her fingers felt something wet. She pulled her hand away; it was covered in blood. Her blood. A scream built up in her throat, but came out as a choked sob. 

Something-a body, it had to be a body-landed right behind her. Miram screamed and crawled away on all fours, stumbling over her arms. A clawed hand grabbed her ankle and sharp talons dug into her skin. Miram shrieked. Desperately tried to yank her leg away; the claws dug in deeper. 

As suddenly as the hand grabbed her, it let go. Miram got onto her knees, both hands pressed into her bleeding ankle, and looked over her shoulder. Two turians wrestled on the ground, the black plated one and one with silvery white plates. They rolled on the floor, limbs intertwined and hands scraping for a grip. 

Miram crawled away from them, towards the bed, and watched the two fight. At first Miram thought they were evenly matched but the black turian gained the upper hand after delivering a blow to her rescuer's stomach. Hit after hit landed on the silver turian until he was doubled over, and the black turian advanced upon him. She had to help her rescuer.

She searched the room for anything that could be used as a weapon and swore when she couldn't find anything. The two turians were on their feet, fist fighting. The black turian decked the silver one under the jaw and the silver turian fell to the floor. In a moment of desperation Miram grabbed the bed sheet and rushed forward. 

A rush of searing pain rose up from her ankle, she nearly fell over, but if she did nothing they her and her rescuer were going to die. She threw the sheet over the dark turian and tried to tackle him. He easily beat her away and in another moment had the sheet off him. A harsh growl left his throat as he turned to her. Miram held up her arms to defend herself. The black turian reached for her. 

“No!” Miram screamed, high pitched and reeling, as though the power of it could repel him. The silver turian came up behind the black one, pinned his arms behind his back and forced the black turian to the ground.

The black turian spewed curses and vowed to kill them and their families for this. Miram grabbed the blanket and threw it over the black turian's head to muffle his threats.

“Good thinking with the blanket,” The silvery turian said casually, blue blood dripped out of the corner of his mouth, and his mandibles were spread in what Miram could only imagine was a grin. Baffled, she stared at him. She was about to speak when another trickle of blood ran down the side of her head; she shivered.

“Oooh, that doesn't look good. Not good at all,” The silver turian said, and tried to angle his body to get a better look without losing his grip on the black turian, “First, let me deal with this guy and I can give you some medi-gel for that,”

The silver turian delivered a swift kick to the back of the black turian's head, just below where the fringe poked out from under the blanket. Instantly, the stream of curses ceased and the body went limp.

“You killed him!” Miram screamed in shock.

“Kill is a strong word, but no, I just knocked him out,” He said, “but if I had kicked just a little bit harder then yes, he would be quite dead,”

“Oh, god,” She backed up until she knocked into the bed, “Oh god, oh god, oh god!”

“Um, you do have a minor to extreme head injury,” the silver turian interjected softly. He slowly made his way towards her, his orange omni-tool screen open. Miram watched him, and realized that she's seen him before.

“I know you,” Miram said quietly. He didn't say anything, not until he had put some medi-gel on her head, ankle, and examined her for any other cuts and bruises. With him so close there wasn't a shadow of a doubt that it was him. Though, did she ever notice his eyes? At the club she remembered his voice and color, but not his eyes. Now she could see that they were green. 

“Do you now?” He said.

“I saw you, at that club, like. . .a week ago,”

“Really it's been two weeks and four days, but who is counting?”

He stepped back and typed things onto his omni-tool screen. Miram chewed over his words as he worked. Has he been following her around? The implications of that buzzed and hummed around her head. Was he going to kill her now? Abduct her? But, he just saved her life.

“C-sec is on their way to get this guy,” The silver turian told her proudly, “Fedorian Decanus, downed by would-be-prostitute and an old man,”

“Who are you, have you been following me?” Miram blurted out, fingers digging into the carpet.

“I would love to answer that, but this is not the place,” He said, and looked her straight in the eye. Miram couldn't explain it, but she felt like she could trust him. Even if her common sense has been on the fritz, it was the look in his eyes, the softness there, that convinced her.

“Then where? Why?”

“Miss T'Las would not like it if we stay here. We already beat up her favorite client and buyer, and I just called C-sec to crash her little party,” The silver turian gave her another grin. Miram gulped, “But as for the where, my apartment isn't far from here. You'll be safe there,”

“First,” Miram said when he extended his hand to help her up, “What's your name, are you with C-sec?”

“Palus Tatir, and yes and no. I was, then retired, got bored and volunteered to be an informant. Now let's go before Miss T'Lass tries to show us the way out,”

He held out his hand again; Miram took it. The two exited the room, outside it seemed that no one had noticed that anything was amiss. How long will that last? Miram thought as she nervously scanned the brothel, half expecting guards to jump out and shoot them. She walked towards the main entrance but the silver turian-Palus-veered her around and guided her to the back of the room. There they went through a door, into a dark hallway, and through another door at the end. They came out into a back ally that was clear of most trash that usually littered the wards. Across the way a keeper casually walked by.

“My skycar is parked just down the way,” Palus said to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, “You might want to stick close to me, just in case,”

Miram said nothing, and it felt weird to be in a stranger's arms, but he was warm and his embrace made her feel _safe_. They walked like out the alley and through a main thoroughfare. Here, there were brightly lit, and well marked shops with vendors hawking their wares in loud, robust voices. The smell of food hung in the air. The noise of the crowd pressed into her sensitive ears and she felt a headache coming on.

Miram inched closer to Palus, weary of everyone around her. In the open she felt exposed. She couldn't handle another fight, not when she felt so spent. If it weren't for Palus holding her up she would fall to the ground and close her eyes. Palus gave her shoulder a squeeze and they made their way to the small docking port. 

His skycar was non-descript black, but very clean on the outside and inside. He let her in first, helping her down into her seat then went around to his side.

“Ever ridden in one of these before?” He asked.

“No, I haven’t,”

“They're fun. Can go quite fast, just don't crash at high speeds,”

“Okay?” Miram couldn't figure out if he was joking to lighten the mood, or if he was like this all the time. 

The skycar lifted up into the air and zoomed into traffic. Miram closed her eyes, told herself it was just a little rest, but the hum of the engines put her right to sleep. Though, it wasn't a long rest. Soon Palus had gently shaken her away, and helped her out of the skycar. They were atop his apartment building, which looked like every other building in the ward, and was tall, very tall. She could see the whole arm stretched out before her on either side. All purple broken by splotches of white and red lights. From this hight the Wards could almost be considered beautiful.

“Are you scared?” He asked when he noticed she hadn't moved away from the skycar.

“I. . .I don't know,” Miram answered honestly. He motioned towards an elevator, she nodded and they walked over. The silver doors slid shut, Palus hit a button, and their smooth, slow decent began.

“Are you scared about coming with me? To my apartment?”

“I trust you,”

“You probably think I stalked you,”

“A little,”

“I did, sorta. And I did not mean to say it like that. I mean I'm not a creep, not that saying that helps anything, or convinces you, just. . . I've been, or, was a cop for a long time, I've seen plenty of good women eaten by the Wards,” 

There was a deep, deep, regret in his tone. It showed on his face too. The way his mandibles hung slack, and his brow plates were lowered, “I'm not helping my case, am I?”

Silence hung in the air between them for a while. Finally, Miram had to speak.

“My dad is a cop,” she said, and stared down at her hands, “I've grown up around cops, so, thats how I knew I could trust you,” She glanced at him, and saw that his expression had changed. Though, to what she wasn't sure. His brow plates were raised and his mandibles twitched. She found it strange how sometimes his alien features could convey emotions like a human, but other times was completely and utterly alien.

“He always said you could trust a cop,” Miram continued, “Though, he always got touchy on the subject of crooked cops. He said they still have their heart, just that their emotions are in control. He didn't say much about me wanting to come here. I think he thought I didn't have it in me to go. But I was motivated. I had felt like there was nothing for me back home,”

The elevator slid to a stop and the doors opened. Palus went out first, immediately turning left, paused to make sure she was still with him, and kept going. 

The hall was clean. The air smelled fresh. Miram let out a sigh, and breathed deep, let her shoulders sag, and just feel content. If it weren't for the blood stains on her clothes, and fresh memories of a dark plated turian, she could have fooled herself into thinking she was back home on earth.

This hall even kinda resembled the apartment her family lived in. Only, the lights were different, these lights were on the walls, not the ceiling, and at home there were windows on the outside wall that showed the city. She would go into her apartment, weary after another day of filling out job applications, and mom would ask her if someone hired her yet, she'd always say no. Then she'd go into her room and maybe sleep or mess around on the extranet until dinner. Mom always insisted on cooking, and she made the best pot roast Miram ever knew.

“Um, are you alright?” Palus waved a hand in front of her face. She blinked rapidly, not realizing that she had started to cry. 

“Y-yeah,”

“The door's open, and I'm guessing you'll want a shower,”

“Thank you,” She said quietly, voice cracking a little. Tears kept falling, and she didn't care. She felt safe.

Palus' expression changed to something sadder. Without saying a thing he pulled her into a tight hug, his cheek pressed against the side of her head. Miram hugged back and began to openly sob.


	5. Chapter 5

Never before in her short life has Miram ever enjoyed a simple shower so much. Palus had apologized about the lack of human-specific cleaning products but she didn't care. All she needed was hot water. Though, once she had her fill, steam clogging the air and clearing her pours, she did look around. There was only one bottle of what she was sure was body wash, but the writing on label was turian (at least she was sure it was turian, what else could it be?). 

Still, she popped the cap and took a whiff. It smelled good. Like musk, but more. . .she wasn't quite sure how to put it but it was like a combination of broken pine needles and India spices. The alien smell was rather nice, and she wondered where the smell came from. Some plant? Or was it from wood? Either way, she squirted some out on her hand. She didn't want to smell bad while a guest in someone else's home. 

Now clean and warm, Miram turned the shower off, grabbed a towel from the rack, and throughly dried herself. The bathroom was simple, and blue. Blue tiles, blue walls and a navy blue ceiling. It held only the bare essentials, much like the rest of Palus' apartment. 

Her clothes were on the ground beside the door, neatly folded and freshly cleaned. Palus said he would wash her clothes while she showered but she didn't expect him to do it so quickly. Back home their washer took hours to clean one load because of some fault in the machine or programing that the repairman could never find.

Home. Miram bit her lower lip. Her parents must be worried sick. What was I thinking sending them that message? Miram thought, Of course they'll see right through it. She decided then to ask Palus if she could use his omni-tool to send a message home.

But that was for later, right now she needed to get dressed and eat something. Miram picked up the clothes she got at the brothel, not a drop of blood on them anywhere. Though, she hesitated before putting them on. They brought back memories of being knocked back, a dark-plated turian reaching for her. . .

“Miram?” Palus said from the other side of the door, “Are you alright? You've been quiet. . . I wasn't sure if you were having trouble or something. Sorry if I'm bothering you, I didn't-”

“I'm alright,” Miram said, and smiled a little, “I'll be out in a minute, but, um,”

“Yes?”

“Do you have anything to eat? Levo food, I mean,” 

“I have some,” Palus said and she could hear the grin behind his words.

“Really?” She questioned, wondering if he got some just for her. Though, how could he when she only arrived half an hour ago?

“Yeah, I have some for my asari friends at C-sec. They like to drop by and check up on me,” He said.

Miram smiled, and she finished dressing. She opened the door, surprising Palus who was standing right in front of the doorway.

He quickly stepped back, possibly embarrassed if the twitching mandibles were anything to go by.

“Sorry, weren't expecting you to come out so quickly,” He said.

“It's alright, I didn't mean to startle you,”

“Startle?” He said, tone airy, “You can't startle me. Slightly, sorta, just a little surprise me? Maybe,”

Miram laughed. His brow plates twitched, but he smiled and gestured to the kitchen. The counter was a light chrome and empty save for some stray utensils. At the center of the kitchen was a small, square table with two light blue plates placed across from one another.

“Have a seat,” Palus said and went to the refrigerator. Miram did as he asked and stared down at her plate. She often glanced up at Palus as he went about placing food on the counter. There was nothing she recognized as coming from Earth. Suddenly, she really missed her mother's pot roast with a side of gravy. 

“Who was that turian?” Said Miram suddenly. Palus set down the dark green plants he was chopping, and turned to her. 

“You mean the one at the brothel?”

“Yes, you said his name. He had to be someone important,” Miram looked him right in the eye. She fiddled with her hands which lay in her lap. The question had come up in her mind, and curiosity got the best of her. There was so much that she didn't know about Palus, and the events that brought her to his apartment. What was his part in all this?

“He is, or was, important,” Palus began slowly, he looked back down at the food he had prepped, “Look, after dinner I'll explain everything to you, is that alright?”

“Yeah,” Miram said. She felt a little embarrassed for blurting the question out. Though, now that she's asked it, she couldn't help but think on it even more. Would she like Palus' answers? There was no question of whether she trusted him or not, but there was something else about him that made her nervous. Though, she dared not explore that aspect. She was too scared of what she would find. Instead, she focused on him.

Palus was a good cook, she noticed. His movements were precise. When chopping ingredients-which was everything from dark green plants, to cream colored tubers and dark and light meats-he was quick, and used the knife edge to put everything into bowels. On top of everything else he managed to cook two meals, one dextro and one levo simultaneously. Miram felt like she was watching a cooking show sans commentary. 

When he took two pans out from the cupboards and turned the oven on, Miram swore she heard her stomach growl. Palus put the ingredients into the pans and soon the smell of sizzling meat filled the air. Miram closed her eyes and tried to really smell the cooking food. Like the body wash they were entirely new smells that she had no words to describe with. Once or twice she thought she could have used words like chicken or pork, mushrooms or curry, but those words never did justice to what she smelled.

When their dinners were done cooking he took the pans off the oven-top and gently eased the food onto the plates. Miram gazed hungrily at the meal before her. Her food was the lighter colored meat, now golden brown and wreathed in dark green plants. It smelled wonderful, but she waited before Palus sat down and picked up his fork before doing the same.

“I've. . .never cooked for a human before,” He admitted shyly, “I've always wanted to, but never had the chance until now. I hope you like it,”

“It looks amazing,” Miram said, and she took a bite of meat and greens. Finally, something she could describe. The meat tasted like beef, but the texture was more like fish; light and flaky but the flavor were strong and savory. The greens was like sweet spinach. Normally she didn't like spinach, since it was so bitter, but this was nice, really nice. 

“And?” Palus watched expectantly.

“It's so good,” Miram said and ate bite after bite. Palus laughed and got to work on his own plate. The meal progressed amicably. He asked her more about the meal, if she liked this or that, and if it was like anything she's had on Earth. Miram answered everything and even asked a few questions in return about his own meal. 

While Palus had no clue what the Earth equivalent to what he ate was, he could sure describe taste and texture. The more he spoke the more Miram wished she could eat dextro food as well.

After dinner Palus asked her to go sit in the adjacent living room while he washed the plates. Miram agreed, and leaned back into the soft-and blue-couch. Without the distraction of dinner, or a nice, hot shower, her thoughts turned back to home and the questions she wanted to ask Palus. 

Where would she be if she had stayed at home? What if Sarah never gave her that copy of Fornax. Hell, what if she actually liked human males and didn't need to travel across the galaxy in some wild and thoughtless plan to get laid in the worst way? Miram knew where she would be. Back home, alone in her room and a bottle of pills on her dresser that she'd sometimes pull out, stare at, and wonder.

It wasn't long before Palus joined her in the living room. He seemed so sure of himself when he walked in, but he hesitated by the couch, glancing at the open space on either side of her, approached once, then turned on his heel and sat down in a arm chair to the right and back against the wall. The window was behind him and Miram could see skycars flying between the many skyscrapers in the wards.

“So, I'm sure you have plenty of questions to ask,” Palus said. He switched between keeping his hands folded together and in his lap to placed on his knees. Miram wanted to tell him that she was nervous too, but couldn't quite say the words. Instead she asked;

“So, who was that turian?”

“A drug dealer, and a big one too. He worked hand in hand with T'Las at that brothel. You see, he'd give her the drugs, she'd give the drugs to her girls, and customers would go to the brothel, pick up the girls, and well, I'm sure you get the picture,”

Miram slowly nodded, feeling slightly sick at the memory of her failure of a blowjob. Palus noticed and asked if she needed some water, or a waste bucket. She said she didn't, but he waited patiently for her to ask her next question. A question Miram wasn't sure she wanted to ask.

Why did he save her? Why is he so interested in her? 

“You're retired?” She asked.

“For about a year now,” He answered, “I worked C-sec for thirty years,”

“Did you like it?” She asked innocently enough, but regretted it when she saw his mandibles droop. He didn't answer right away, but when he did his sub-harmonics were deep, and mournful. 

“I liked that I was doing something to make the wards safer,” He paused again, and he stared at some far off thing, “But it wears on you. Seeing good people hurt, and unable to do a thing about it. I've seen many girls like you before, most ended up dead, or with debts or children they couldn't keep. Or taken in by guys who abuse them,” 

There was a growl in his voice, but the meaning behind his words were straightforward, and painfully honest. 

“Is that why you helped me?” She asked, her voice almost a squeak. 

Palus shifted nervously, “Yes. . .among, other things,” His heated gaze was focused on her. Miram gulped and looked at anywhere but him. 

“I'm really tired,” She said, “I think I should get some sleep,”

“Right, of course,” He said and lead her to the spare room. He apologized for the lack of furniture. There was only a bed and a dresser in the small room. Miram told him it was perfect the way it was. He left her to her own devices, and she sat down on the bed. It didn't creak or groan, but was wonderfully soft and smelled clean. 

Miram fell back, the springs bouncing but silent, and reveled in the softness of the sheets. It was like she was floating on a lazy summer cloud. Gradually, her thoughts drifted to those pre-sleep worries that prevented rest until they had some resolution. What was she going to say to her parents? And, could she really stay here with Palus? She liked him a lot, he was really kind and even a little handsome. Her face heated up and she rolled onto her stomach to press her face into the pillows. 

Though, maybe she shouldn't stay. When she thought about Palus, she felt warm, but also nervous. A sinking feeling would bubble up in her stomach, and she'd feel the urge to leave and try her luck on the streets again. Palus brought up many feelings inside her, and there were some that she was terrified to face. 

If she really started to like him. . . 

Miram sighed heavily, and rolled back over. She stared up at the ceiling for a long time. Eventually sleep claimed her. She dreamed of home, her family, but also the brothel, and the dark-plated turian. He would reach for her, and she'd wake with a start. Sleep always came back, but it was hesitant to send her back to that unknown world of dreams.


End file.
